


It's Our Paradise (and It's Our War Zone)

by Trixen



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixen/pseuds/Trixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After "the interview from Hell", Cait and Sam meet in a hotel room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Our Paradise (and It's Our War Zone)

Caitriona undressed slowly. It was how she did things outside of work. Slipping off dresses instead of rushing from them. Unzipping with care, letting heels fall off or be kicked out of the way, t-shirts whispering over her head, stirring her hair like a breath.

 

He was thinking of her right now. 

 

She knew he was. Of course she did. Everything he did - everything she did - it was like it changed the air between them. Indistinguishable from something structural. She’d seen a sculpture once where the metal flowed into the wall behind it. There was no end or beginning or middle and she stared at it until her eyes blurred with salt and the back of her throat stung. 

 

A text from Donal tonight. _Ri, wth you dumb bunny._  


_Seen it then_

_I repeat, wth_

_Had to be done yknow, don’t be a dick_

_good luck with the aftermath my darlin_

No reply to that. Sure, she depended on him for the harsh truth, but this was straying away from what she could bear. She was queasy with it. Giving that interview, trying vainly to fight her way around the words. Even tasting them was a fucking battle. She tried so hard not to look at him during it, but she could _feel_ him thinking, feel his belly deep frustration and hurt and Jesus, did he think she _wanted_ this? Had she ever wanted this? Had she even wanted this to begin?

 

Hadn’t she fought it with everything in her? Hadn’t she become the Queen of pretending?

 

“You are a dumb bunny, Caitriona,” she muttered. Looking herself square in the eyes, she fluffed her hair for the benefit of the hotel mirror. It was edged in gold and unforgiving. “A dumb, dumb fucking bunny."

 

Her silk dress lay puddled around her toes. Her phone pinged again. _Chin up babes,_ from Melina. Cait decided replying was more than she was capable of at the moment, and took a large drink of wine instead. The Sancerre was so cold that it glowed in her mouth, turning her insides to flames. Everything in her, all of her pink secret places, everything hurt and ached and just.

 

Her phone again. _Open the door Cait._  


Only that, and all of her nerves fired. Her bare feet padded across the carpet, and she pressed her palm against the door. 

 

“Open the door,” he said.

 

She made a sound, something between a whimper and a groan. Twisting the handle, she opened it and he stepped through, closing it behind him with what felt like restrained violence. He was vibrating with tension. “Sam, you shouldn’t be here. If—"

 

“If what?” he said, picking up the bottle of wine and drinking straight from it, his throat working as he swallowed. Something inside of her broke open at the sight of that, at the very sound and sight of him swallowing. “If someone sees? There was no one out there, I checked."

 

“After today—"

 

“What? You thought we were done?"

 

“I—"

 

“Ah, _mo leannan_ ,” he said softly, his voice hoarse. “You’re so blind."

 

She folded in on herself a bit. “I’m not. I’m just trying to be sensible. We can’t hide this anymore. It’s killing me and I just—"

 

“So your answer is to pretend nought happened and what then, Cait?"

 

“It will all go away if we just be grown ups about it.” She wanted to roll her eyes at herself for that comment, but he was doing it for her. 

 

“You’re not actin’ very grown up, _mo leannan."_  


  
_“Stop calling me that,”_ she gritted out between clenched teeth. 

 

“I don’t think I will stop, actually” he said, walking toward her. He backed her up against the door without even a touch. His eyes were like fire and she stared helplessly, clutching the glass of wine against her breast. Her traitorous heart beating wildly, irrepressibly. Like an animal in the room. “Because I ken exactly what it does to you.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “What it makes you feel,” his hand brushed her belly, traced the edge of her panties. “Take these off, Cait."

 

“We can’t,” she said, soft soft and oh God. “What if we ruin everything? What if—"

 

“It could end tomorrow, you ken that as well as I do,” he murmured against her ear, his lips ghosting over her skin. “They could cancel it—"

 

“Or it could be on for nine seasons,” she retorted. “Twenty if Diana never stops writing. When we break up it’ll be hell - worse than —"

 

He kissed her and she moaned into his mouth, tasting him. Whisky, mint, apricots, coppery blood as she bit his lip and he groaned and the wine glass tumbled to the carpet. They were clawing at each other, pulling at each other’s mouths, until he broke away, gasping in a breath. “Why when?"

 

“What?” she panted, head falling back against the door.

 

“Why do ye say ‘when we break up’? Sam asked, his accent thickening with every word.

 

“Because —“ she paused. “Because it’s inevitable, isn’t it? These things don’t last."

 

“These… _things_ ,” he repeated and she glimpsed some of the hurt she’d seen today, as his eyes darkened to midnight and he pulled her with him, back to the bed, into his arms and his mouth. “ _Caitriona_."

 

That was all, just her name, but she felt it all the way to her bones, all the way to the dark heart of herself, to the place where songs were sung and feelings were birthed and griefs were ravaged, down into where the truths rang out like knives against stone. Striking sparks and juddering like boats, and she couldn’t help herself - never had been able to - kissing him with all of that behind it, with every thought, every stolen glance, every fuck in the trailers, every time she had wanted so badly to claim him in public, brand him say _he is mine and I am his and that is all that there ever will be_.

 

He rolled her onto her back and she unzipped him before they could utter another word, opening her legs for him. “God,” he said as she touched his cock, palming him and feeling all of that heat and strength rising up to his belly, feeling the rough hair, knowing what it felt like against her clit. Cait moaned then, as he bit her neck, her shoulder, his lips on her breasts and her nipples, starving and then he was speaking as he knew she liked him to do and those words, _open your cunt for me, Cait, let me feel how wet ye are for me_ had her burning, burning up, desperate.

 

“Please."

 

“Please what?” he said from between her thighs.

 

“Sam—“ she arched her back, dragging her hands on his shoulders.

 

“Ask nicely,” he rasped, fucking her with his tongue.

 

“No."

 

He smiled then, against her, his teeth grazing her clit. “So fierce. I love that, _mo leannan."_  


She wouldn’t beg, she wouldn’t, but she pulled him up with strong arms and fed his cock into her without hesitation. He stilled and heaved a breath at this, and they both shuddered against each other as she fucked herself with him, pushing him deep deep until it felt as if she would split in two.

 

Sam grabbed her wrists and put them up above her head, pressing her into the mattress as he slowly, carefully and thoroughly fucked her. With his other hand, he played with her clit, pressing alongside it, teased it with dragging touches, and finally grasping her pussy with his palm and with his open hand rubbing her until she felt as if the world was centred in that one spot, everything building and sparking, the hot electricity of his touch. They came almost simultaneously, the orgasms tightening and thrumming and all she could hear were his groans and the blood hammering in her ears. He collapsed onto her, shaping her face with his hands, and he was saying something - _this won’t end, I won’t let it,_ and then he was looking at her, raising up on his elbow to trace her mouth and her eyelashes with his fingers, and then his eyes, meeting hers and showing her truly, unreservedly, that 

 

this was the truth, that she loved him and he loved her

 

that she was his, and he was hers

 

that there would be no end, just beginnings after beginnings after beginnings, ever after. Like the sculpture, flowing into metal and fused like bone, indivisible, and their eyes met again and she smiled at him, smiled through tears and said, “I won’t let it either."

 

\\\

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Zayn Malik for "Pillow Talk", which made me think immediately of Sam and Cait.


End file.
